


he wants to be tender and merciful

by Mattition



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Web Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29324292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mattition/pseuds/Mattition
Summary: Their bedroom is a cold, almost clinical place. It looks more like a showroom than a place a person lives. Peter doesn’t actually have much of an opinion on what their flat looks like, he’d rather be on his stupid boat all the time, but half the reason Jon’s his spouse is so that he can force Peter into the sceneora few vignettes from jon & peter's marriage <3
Relationships: Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	he wants to be tender and merciful

**Author's Note:**

> do I know what this is??? eh. do I like it?? for right now!
> 
> Title is from (say it with me, kids) Richard Siken's _Unfinished Duet_
> 
> CWs for general lonely and web headspaces, smoking, general warnings re: naomi's statement

It feels a lot like nothing, is the thing. It feels like all his emotions have been condensed into a bouillon cube that he has to hold under his tongue. It doesn’t feel good, certainly, but not bad either. It’s just… nothing. 

He remembers it. He remembers the ceremony, standing silently across from his betrothed, mind elsewhere as the faceless pastor rattled on about The One Alone and the emptiness of an arranged marriage and lovely things like that. He remembers looking at the strands of grey streaking back from Peter’s temples and thinking that he already had spiderwebs, Jon would barely have to add any of his own. Annabelle would have liked that. She would have laughed in his face and called him a romantic. Their Mother doesn’t much care for romantics, so he’s lucky he isn’t one. He doesn’t remember if he felt much at all, surrounded as he was by the Forsaken’s fog. He’s not sure if he’d rather have felt that nervous ball of lead that had been settled in his stomach since he was sent to the Moorland House. He’d always been a nervous child, and Mr. Spider’s tutelage hadn’t helped him _actually_ lose that anxiety, just hide it better. He was glad when Mother took him away, at the very least. 

He wants to get to know this man he now shares a name with. He wants to know why Peter holds his arm out, gentlemanly, for Jon to tuck his gloved hand into. He wants to know why Peter smiles so wide, a rictus grin. He wants to crack him open like a crab, scoop out the soft, succulent meat, and learn what makes him tick. What strings to pluck and what buttons to press. His mouth waters and the bouillon of his emotions dissolves a bit. He swallows them down and they settle in the pit of his stomach. That’s fine. They won’t stay relevant for long. 

The ring is cold through the dark satin of his glove and it clinks delicately against the polished salad fork that Jon holds. He mimes eating. Spinach and tomato and basil will not sustain him. Indeed, the only one here that it could hope to sustain would be the terrified little waif by Evan Lukas’ side. She’s a pretty thing, too, and Evan didn’t want her here, maybe even less than he wanted to come, but here he is, with his little human girlfriend. Jon’s right hand twitches a bit, and his finger catches on an A in the 3rd octave. He tucks a shot of pleasure behind a rib. If he’s going to be married to this mockery of a gentleman, he’ll have to paste happiness to his muscles like a layer of blubber to ward off the chill. 

The salad course goes and is replaced with little fanfare. The waitstaff are ghosts for their own safety and he does make a point to ignore ghosts. He switches out his utensils. He and Peter don’t talk. They are alone here, at the head of the room, an isolated little island table. Frost is gathering across the surface of Jon’s wineglass. Jon is bored. Peter, it seems, is also bored, because he greets Evan Lukas loudly and genially when the boy makes his reluctant pilgrimage to the newlyweds’ table. His partner clutches his arm like a child to their mothers’ apron strings. Jon plucks his way up the octave and into the 2nd. Evan eyes him wearily. Jon ignores him and turns his dark eyes on the girl. 

“You look cold,” he tells her. She shudders a bit under his chill gaze and shrugs. Her dress is lovely, but it’s not suited for a Lukas family event. Jon’s reception gown is darkest blue velvet, shot through with glittering webs, and he thinks that if he were alive to feel the cold, it would be just enough to ward off the worst of the fog. 

“I think the air con’s on,” she offers, friendly, like they’re equals. Jon laughs. It is not a pleasant sound. The girl stutters. “Er, I’m Naomi. Congratulations. Y-you two make a lovely couple.”

“I rather think we do.” Jon agrees. His darkness is certainly a pretty contrast against Peter’s paleness. Not that Jon’s really much better, for all that his skin is dark and his hair curls more tightly than any Lukas could manage, he _does_ share with them a sort of sickly pallor. They are an even match, at the very least.

“His Mother was worried he’d stay a spinster all his life, isn’t that right?” Peter cuts in, slinging an arm over Jon’s shoulders and jostling him closer. Evan looks intensely uncomfortable. 

“Oh, I’ll get some spinning in, don’t you worry, Peter Lukas.” Jon pats his face like he’s a needy dog begging for attention. He turns his attention back on Naomi. She smiles awkwardly. “Are you staying long? I’m sure we could be fast friends.”

“No.” cuts Evan. Jon pouts. He briefly considers pushing, but he knows that the girl belongs to the Forsaken so he shrugs elegantly and waves the boy away. He’s bored again. Peter is still in his space, and He pulls Jon even closer, turns him bodily so their knees knock together. Their faces barely a foot apart. Jon takes his face in both hands, turns him this way and that. He purses his lips, thinking.

“Have I been found wanting?” Peter asks, smiling. Jon is dismayed to realize that he likes this strangely jovial man. 

“Hm. There’s still time.”

…  
Peter’s hands are not warm, but they are big. They nearly meet around his waist. It’s yet another strike against him. If Jon wanted to marry a man he’d enjoy being around, he certainly wouldn’t have gone into an arranged marriage with a child of the Forsaken. Jon rolls his neck and Peter bites the fresh real-estate. Jon pulls his hair affectionately. 

“Did you want something?”

“You’re the one who climbed in my lap, princess. I assumed you wanted my attentions.” The next bite is harder, and Jon hums low in his chest. He does like it when Peter bites.

“I want you to dock soon. I’m hungry for someone who doesn’t taste like dust.”

“What’ll you give me?” Peter is making that face that he makes when he doesn’t want to smile, so Jon kisses him. He hums into Peter’s mouth, gets distracted by the scratch of Peter’s unshaven face. He loves sensations, and he rubs his face messily across his husband’s. Peter’s hands slide down his back and he pinches his side. Jon giggles. “You’re such a slut.”

“Me?” murmurs Jon, delighted. Peter slips his hands under Jon’s sweater. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

“Came to me in a dream,”

“Mmm. Must have.” They kiss a while more, Peter’s icy hands rubbing absently up and down Jon’s spine, but neither of them are particularly in the mood. 

“We’ll be back in London in two weeks. Is that soon enough for you?”

“I imagine I’ll live.” Jon sighs. Peter laughs jovially. “ 

…

Peter shucks out of his suit and dumps it on the floor. He flops onto a chair in the corner and watches as Jon hangs his gown up nicely and carefully switches out his gloves to a more everyday pair. Jon pays him little mind. He doesn’t bother to take off his heels or any of his underthings. If Peter really were the uncivilized brute his family frame him as, Jon would treat him a lot differently, but the reality of it is that, of the two of them, _Peter_ is the gentleman, and Jon is the scoundrel.

Their bedroom is a cold, almost clinical place. It looks more like a showroom than a place a person lives. Peter doesn’t actually have much of an opinion on what their flat looks like, he’d rather be on his stupid boat all the time, but half the reason Jon’s his spouse is so that he can force Peter into the scene. Jon’s obedient, Mr. Spider made sure of that; it wasn’t the type to allow overt insubordination. Nathanial had asked him to make sure Peter was a more proper gentleman, which Jon has always thought was strange. The Lukases want to be seen in the corners of crowded parties, or talking in groups, excluding other guests, or quieting when they come near. They don’t want to make connections, they want to break them, which seems needlessly complicated to Jon, but who is he to judge. But Jon had forced Peter into a suit and they’d gone to Magnus’ holiday gala, despite Peter’s general dislike of parties and Jon’s general dislike of Beholders. Magnus had once again offered him a job, but, as much as Jon love his webs, he’s not fond of being tethered to Magnus’ little library. 

Jon sits at the vanity and starts braiding his hair. “Do _you_ think I should take Elias up on his offer?” 

“What, to come work in his library? Is it not just a proposition?”

“I don’t think so, I think he actually does want me to work there for some reason.”

“You like books enough.” 

Jon rolls his eyes. Sometimes Peter is so transparent. “Take your next voyage alone, then, see if I care.”

“Won’t you miss me?”

“No,”

Jon watches his husband through the mirror, lounged lazily in the armchair and smiling wide. He’s very handsome when he smiles, Jon thinks. A particularly large house spider Jon’s named Citrina climbs up the back of Peter’s chair and gives Jon a pointed look. He rolls his eyes. He’s not a spy. He doesn’t have to pretend Peter isn’t lovable. Not in the privacy of this quiet moment. Jon thinks he could love him, if it were allowed. 

…

Jon’s not surprised when the boy turns up dead. Nathanial gives him the stink eye when he and Peter arrive in Kent, but everyone knows Evan’s ‘heart condition’ was a direct result of him rejecting his god. Beside that, Jon doesn’t love the flavour of the Forsaken in his meals. He’s in a particularly bad mood whenever he deigns to accompany Peter on a voyage, because all there is to eat is tinged by the Tundra’s fog. He’s always especially vicious just after a voyage, which is when Peter wants to visit his paramour. Magnus is a smug bastard on a good day, and he’s especially smug whenever he talks to Jon, so they’re not on the best of terms, no matter how pretty the bouquets he sends are, or how rare the artifacts. Jon’s even less fond of The Archivist, though, so he considers Magnus a lesser evil. 

No matter his reservations, Nathanial conscripts Jon to play his harp at the viewing. Jon is always happy to show off, so he plays a selection of the most depressing music he can, which the Lukases seem to enjoy. Peter bops his head like he’s listening to the top 40 on the radio, but Jon’s used to his antics by now. 

Evan’s little fiancé comes in just as Jon’s finishing his last song, and he tires of the company of the Lukas family, so he traipses his way out the back door and makes his way through the graves towards the gazebo. The thing is old, and the spiders who live there scuttle after him as he paces. He lets a particularly large one crawl into his hand.

He closes his eyes and enjoys the silence of the dead. Or, well, he tries to. The A in the 3rd octave twangs, and Jon turns to watch Naomi stumble between the graves. He plucks the string and she turns her head. Her eyes light on the gazebo and she runs toward it. Jon lets himself smile. He shoos the spiders away and pulls out his cigarettes to light up. 

“Hey! Hey, help me, please!”

“Naomi, isn’t it?” asks Jon, not turning to face her. She pants and sits heavily on one of the benches.

“Yes, I’m sorry, but I’m lost. I’ve been walking for hours, I almost f-fell into a grave,” She sobs. Jon hums and takes a drag. He turns around. Naomi squeaks in fear. She recognizes him, of course. Evan warned her off him; the poor brat feared those who serve the Mother more than he did the Forsaken. Not that he equipped his love with the proper information. Jon’s smile is kind, if a bit awkward. He shivers and wraps his coat a bit closer around himself. Let the girl think that he’s just adept at putting on masks. 

“I’m sorry, that sounds really scary. I can show you back to the house? If you want.” Naomi nods enthusiastically, relieved tears glittering in her eyes. Jon nods back at her and lifts his cigarette sheepishly. “Do you mind waiting for me to finish this? Lukas family events always drive me a bit crazy.”

“Oh, er, of course, I need to rest anyway.” Naomi watches him take a couple drags in silence before leaning forward. “Do you want to be married to Peter?

“I _am_ married to Peter,” 

“Yeah, but do you want to? Evan said you had an arranged marriage. I didn’t know people still did that.”

“Mmm, I suppose… Peter is an unruly Lukas, and my Mother also felt it time to tame me. We really are quite well-matched.”

“That’s not right,”

“That’s how things are in our circles, Naomi. I’m sure your boy told you about his ‘religious family,’ didn’t it ever strike you to ask just _what_ god they serve?”

“No, I just assumed—”

“You never found it odd that the first time you met the family, Evan’s uncle was marrying me? Do I look like a good Christian girl to you?” Jon gestures to his glittering suit and Naomi splutters. 

“I try not to judge,” she says. Jon rolls his eyes. 

“You’re a sweet girl. Trusting. I’ll tell you this: you’ll never move on. You’ll try to reach out to your friends and family, and they’ll reach back, they’ll throw you ropes and life rafts, they’ll offer you ladders, they’ll offer hands. But you won’t be able to grasp them. And they’ll get tired, eventually. No one’s worth all that effort. They’ll let you go. They’ll let you drift. And you’ll like it that way. It’s better to be alone, really. No one to rely on but yourself. And even then, you’ll betray yourself eventually.”

Naomi stares at him in horror, big, pretty eyes welling with tears. 

“Do you feel that? That right there is what they worship. That feeling is religious ecstasy for my husband.”

“Wh-why, what…?”

“But don’t worry, Naomi, I’m not like them.” Jon plucks the strings down and into the 5th octave, and the world seems to shift. The One Alone likes him enough that it sometimes submits to his whims, especially when his whims are to feed it. There is a shallow grave waiting for one Ms. Naomi Hearne. “I’ll show you the way out. Come along.” Jon doesn’t wait for her acceptance; he doesn’t have to to know she’ll follow. And she does, clumsy on terrified, grieving feet.

She follows him into the fog, and doesn’t notice the hole waiting for her. He doesn’t look back at her scream, just continues back up to the main house.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> You can find me on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/maatition) if ur 18+


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